Brother Cadfael 09: Dead Man's Ransom

sheriff. Owain Gwynedd's goodwill is gold to us in Shropshire, all the more since Madog ap Meredith is showing his teeth again.'
    'Do you tell me so? Owain will want to hear of it, but after supper will be the fitting time. I'll make you a place at the high table.'
    Since he had in any case to wait for the arrival of Einon, Cadfael sat back to study and enjoy the gathering in Tudur's hall over supper, the warmth of the central fire, the torches, the wine, and the harping. A man of Tudur's status was privileged to possess a harp and maintain his own harper, in addition to his duty to be a generous patron to travelling minstrels. And with the prince here to praise and be praised, they had a rivalry of singers that lasted throughout the meal. There was still a deal of coming and going in the courtyard, latecomers riding in, officers from the camps patrolling their bounds and changing pickets, and the womenfolk fetching and carrying, and loitering to talk to the archers and men at arms. For the time being this was the court of Gwynedd, where petitioners, bringers of gifts, young men seeking office and favour, all must come.
    The dishes had been removed, and the mead and wine were circulating freely, when Tudur's steward came into the hall and made for the high table.
    'My lord, there's one here asks leave to present to you his natural son, whom he has acknowledged and admitted to his kinship only two days ago. Griffri ap Llywarch, from close by Meifod. Will you hear him?'
    'Willingly,' said Owain, pricking up his fair head to stare down through the smoke and shadows of the hall with some curiosity. 'Let Griffri ap Llywarch come in and be welcome.'
    Cadfael had not paid due attention to the name, and might not even have recognised it if he had, nor was he likely to recognise a man he had never seen before. The newcomer followed the steward into the hall, and up between the tables to the high place. A lean, sinewy man, perhaps fifty years old, balding and bearded, with a hillman's gait, and the weathered face and wrinkled, far, seeing eyes of the shepherd. His clothing was plain and brown, but good homespun. He came straight to the dais, and made the Welshman's brisk, unservile reverence to the prince.
    'My lord Owain, I have brought you my son, that you may know and approve him. For the only son I had by my wife is two years and more dead, and I was without children, until this my son by another woman came to me declaring his birth and proving it. And I have acknowledged him mine and brought him into my kinship, and as mine he is accepted. Now I ask your countenance also.' He stood proudly, glad of what he had to say and of the young man he had to present; and Cadfael would have had neither eyes nor ears for any other man present, if it had not been for the courteous silence that had followed him up the hall, and the one clear sound that carried in it. Shadows and smoke veiled the figure that followed respectfully at some yards distance, but the sound of its steps was plainly audible, and went haltingly, lighter and faster upon one foot. Cadfael's eyes were upon the son when he came hesitantly into the torchlight from the high table. This one he knew, though the black hair was trimmed and thrown proudly back from a face not now sullen and closed, but open, hopeful and eager, and there was no longer a crutch under the leaning armpit.
    Cadfael looked back from Anion ap Griffri to Griffri ap Llywarch, to whose drear and childless middle age this unlooked, for son had suddenly supplied a warm heart of hope and content. The homespun cloak hanging loose upon Griffri's shoulders bore in its folds a long pin with a large, chased gold head secured with a thin gold chain. And that, too, Cadfael had seen before, and knew only too well.
    So did another witness. Einon ab Ithel had come in, as one familiar with the household and desirous of making no inconvenient stir, by the high door from the private chamber, and emerged behind the prince's table unnoticed. The man who was holding all attention naturally drew his. The red of torchlight flashed from the ornament worn openly and proudly. Its owner had the best reason to know there could not be two such, not of that exact and massive size and ornamentation.
    'God's breath!' swore Einon ab Ithel in a great bellow of astonishment and indignation. 'What manner of thief have we here, wearing my gold under my very eyes?'
    Silence fell as ominously as thunder, and every head whirled from